


In The Middle Of The Night

by ibided



Series: The Cat Formerly Known As Prince [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I'm trying to tag whilst watching Bathurst 1000, Implied/Referenced Torture (non-graphic), Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, discussions of brainwashing, self-hypnotism, time loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibided/pseuds/ibided
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki can't sleep. Darcy wants to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Failing to plan

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you thought I had given up on this series, I haven't. But I do have considerably less free time on my hands these days...

Darcy woke suddenly, disturbed by a noise in the apartment. Even through the sleepy fog, her brain managed to identify the noise as a door being wrenched open. It was strange – Loki generally moved as silently as the cat he once was. Sometimes Darcy wondered if they had stealth lessons in Asgard, or if sneaking about just came with the super villain territory.

The door opening noise was then followed by the unmistakable sound of someone emptying their stomach of all contents. The needle on Darcy’s Concern Meter shifted from ‘that’s kinda weird’ to ‘ok, now I’m slightly alarmed’. Weren’t gods supposed to be impervious to human ailments, like illness and stuff?

She rolled herself out of bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom. The light was on – another unusual occurrence, as Loki had many times demonstrated his incredible night vision – and leaning over the toilet, looking thoroughly pale was a very shirtless god of mischief.

“Loki?” Darcy asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

Loki flushed the toilet and turned his back. “Nothing,” he replied. Darcy had the oddest urge to run her nails down that perfect back. She shook her head free of disturbing fantasies.

“I heard you throw up. That’s not nothing. I didn’t even think it was possible for you.”

“Evidently it is,” Loki snapped. He turned around and damn if the view from the front wasn’t just as good. He glared at her with cold and angry eyes.

Darcy rolled hers. “Whatever. You just keep being grumpy and secretive and mysterious and I’ll go back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She padded back to her room and snuggled back under the covers, but sleep eluded her for another hour.

The following morning she was halfway through her cereal when Loki emerged, sauntering into the room and sitting at the kitchen table like he owned the whole damn building. Darcy wasn’t quite sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that he was fully dressed. He selected an apple from the fruit bowl, pulled a dagger from God knows where and began slicing bite size pieces off.

“So,” Darcy ventured, “wanna tell me what happened last night?”

“No.”

“If you’re sick or something then I need to know. I don’t want to be getting some kind of über space disease.”

“I am perfectly healthy.”

“Perfectly healthy people don’t get up in the middle of the night to toss their cookies. Let me help you,” Darcy pushed. She jumped almost out of her skin when Loki slammed the dagger hilt deep into the table, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“I neither want, nor require your help. Drop it!”

“Fine! I’m sorry for caring. But that table cost me good money, pal, and remember that little chat we had about what happens if I fear for my safety?”

Loki never broke his innards-withering eye contact with her as he removed the dagger, vanished it, and then magically repaired the table. It was as close to an apology that Darcy had ever received from him.

“You needn’t concern yourself,” Loki reiterated, more calmly. “I am fine.”

And Darcy wasn’t concerned. She wasn’t concerned all day at work, or that evening as she read Harry Potter. And she certainly wasn’t concerned when, in the very early hours of the next morning, she heard Loki once again being sick. She didn’t mention it at breakfast, nor did she ask him about it the next two mornings after it happened again and again.

By the fifth night Darcy had had enough. When she once again heard the sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom she pushed herself out of bed and confronted him.

“I told you,” he snapped, “It is not your concern.”

Darcy was having none of that. “Yeah, well, here’s the thing about concern: it doesn’t just go away when you tell it to.”

“A little like mortal women.” Loki pushed past her and back into his bedroom. With a flick of his fingers he made to slam the door closed, but Darcy stopped it just in time.

“Nuh uh! We are talking about this.”

“ _I do not need your help_ ,” Loki hissed, looking every bit the enraged god capable of crushing a little Darcy where she stood.

“Well, maybe I need yours!” That got his attention.

“What?” His confused face was kind of adorable.

“I’ve been having a bit of trouble sleeping lately,” Darcy began. “Some stubborn jackass keeps waking me up in the middle of the night and he won’t tell me why.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“You are attempting to appeal to my nature as a deity.”

“I’d say that I’m appealing to your god complex, but whatevs. Is it working?”

“Would it make you cease your pestering?”

“…Probably.”

“Very well, little human. Your god has heard your prayer.”

“Aahhh…ok, I’ll call that a win.” Darcy squeezed herself passed the Loki in the doorway and sat cross-legged on the bed. “So, are you ill?”

Loki settled himself in his desk chair. “No, I am not. I am remembering.”

This was not at all what Darcy was expecting, but she resisted the urge to react.

“You know, I presume, of the events surrounding Thor’s initial banishment?” Loki continued. “And of what occurred after he returned to Asgard?”

“That the two of you fought and then you fell off the Bifrost and everyone thought you were dead?”

Loki frowned slightly but nodded anyway. “I fell for what seemed like an eternity. I was… retrieved” (he winced at the word) “by a being who dwells in the void, known as Thanos. I pledged myself to his service, he furnished me with a weapon of great power—”

“The spear thingy?” Darcy clarified.

“A sceptre, yes. Capable of overriding a person’s will, drawing out their darkest impulses and twisting them to suit a new purpose – Thanos’s purpose. With the sceptre in my hand I came here, to Earth, to conquer.” Loki swallowed. “Until the beginning of this week, I thought that was all there was to the story.”

“But now you remember something else.”

The laugh he gave was exceedingly dry. “Yes. An entire Midgardian year.”

Darcy frowned in confusion. “Uhh, what do you mean? How does someone lose an entire year? And what kind of memory can make you physically ill?”

“I knew that a significant amount of time had passed between Thor’s return to Asgard and my appearance in S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, however I assumed that much of that time I had spent falling through the void. In reality it may have only been a few days before Thanos found me. My dreams had been filled with falling – falling for eternity and being claimed by madness. But now I dream of what happened in that missing year.”

“So, what happened?” Darcy urged.

“I was tortured, repeatedly,” Loki stated. His voice held no emotion; it was simply a statement of fact. However, the slight tightening of a muscle in his jaw and the pallor of his skin betrayed the discomfort that the memory aroused beneath the surface. “Every day – or at least, what counted for a day – Thanos would torture me. Sometimes he would do it personally and sometimes he would have one of his servants do it. Afterwards, he would try to use the sceptre on me, and I would resist him.”

“Resist him? Resist him how?”

“A strong enough mind can fight its control as one might defend a city from siege.”

“Could a human do it?”

“No,” Loki said, looking like he were suppressing a sneer. “Your kind does not live long enough to develop the mental strength. Even among the Aesir there would be few who possess the necessary fortitude. I only succeeded for as long as I did because of my centuries of magical training.” He trailed off then, lost down some unknowable path of thought. Darcy waited until she could see storm clouds gathering over Loki’s features before gently prodding him to continue with his account.

“How long did you resist?”

He didn’t answer the question. Not directly, at least. Instead he eyed Darcy darkly. “I knew it was only a matter of time before he broke me – with every session of torture my resistance grew weaker and it became more and more difficult to retain possession of my own mind,” he said. “But Thanos knew it too, and he would talk to me, telling me of his plans. Gloating, like a fool.

“His plan was to secure Midgard through me, and from there he would conquer the rest of the nine realms. Even the might of Asgard would pale in comparison. Everyone and everything would be destroyed. That was his mistake. He should have known not to threaten my home.”

“’It’s the stay-n-gloat that gets them every time…’” Darcy quoted. “But two questions: First, and forgive me if I’m totally wrong here, but I was under the impression that you no longer considered Asgard your home. And second, if it was only a matter of time before he broke you what could you do to stop him?”

“I had been a prince of the realm,” Loki stated. “Protecting Asgard was my duty.” He didn’t meet Darcy’s gaze as he continued, “Some habits are hard to break.”

That may have been the most over-simplifying statement of the century, Darcy mused, but delving into Loki’s motivations and loyalties was not a 2:45am kind of activity.

“The truth is,” the trickster continued, “I could do nothing to stop Thanos. I couldn’t escape, nor could I hope to achieve anything by force, and my mind would soon be overcome. My greatest skill, Darcy, is and always has been manipulation. With or without magic I have always been able to sow ideas in other’s minds to suit my own purpose. Then I sit back and wait for my goals to achieve themselves.”

“And of course any mischief you cause can’t be traced back to you,” Darcy chimed in.

“Naturally,” Loki said with a wicked quirk of his lips. “And while I enjoyed Thanos’ hospitality I recalled a certain text I had read almost a century ago. It was written by a Midgardian healer and detailed a technique that he called hypnotism.” Darcy pursed her lips but refrained from interrupting. It did not go unnoticed – Loki rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, I am aware of the irony, but your kind can be so creative in making up for your powerlessness and transience. And I find it useful to keep apprised of the research of other realms.

“Anyway, I came to the conclusion that my best hope in thwarting the plans of the mad titan was to perform a kind of self-hypnosis – to plant an idea deep in my subconscious. I hoped that this idea would become so deeply ingrained within myself that, even under the influence of the sceptre, I would be driven by it.”

Loki looked up and met the silent question in Darcy’s eyes. “Failure. Failure and forgetfulness. Whatever the task Thanos would have me do, I ensured that I would fail. And I ensured that Thanos would not know of my betrayal because I myself would have forgotten. I used a tiny whisper of magic to assist in making my memories fade and hid it beneath an attempt at healing myself. I arrived on your planet not long after that.”

Darcy’s head was reeling. “You failed on purpose. You wanted the Avengers to beat you. That’s why your plan sucked so much. I mean, seriously, it doesn’t take a degree in political science to know that pissing off the natives isn’t an effective way of taking control. Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. Besides open warfare really seems more Thor’s style than yours.” She paused for a beat and then asked, “Aside from the vomiting on a nightly basis, how does knowing all this make you feel? I mean, does it change anything?”

“Really? You want to discuss feelings now?” His voice had suddenly been coated in scathing and deep-fried in sarcasm. “You wanted to know what was making me sick and I have told you. I believe our agreement was for you to stop pestering me. There’s the door.”

“Wow… those are some powerful emotions you’re trying to hide,” was Darcy’s dry retort.

“You know nothing about it! Do you think me weak? That I would confide in _you_? You are nothing but a fool.”

Darcy could have punched the pompous asshole, but she rather liked having her fingers unbroken. Instead she sighed heavily and got to her feet. “Call me what you like. Pathetic, insignificant, whatever. You can’t change what I think about myself and insulting _me_ isn’t going to change how you feel about _your_ self.” She walked past Loki, headed to the door, hesitated for a moment and then turned back around. “My mom has a saying, and I think it’s pretty true. She says that that everyone needs help at one time or another, but it takes real strength of character to ask for it.” She shrugged. “Then again, maybe your stubborn pride will help you get to sleep. ‘Night.”


	2. The Unexamined Life

She was infuriating.

How could one small human woman be so aggravatingly inquisitive? Why could she not leave well enough alone? He had not asked for her help – in fact he had specifically requested that she keep her nose out of his business, and yet the meddlesome chit had done precisely the opposite.

Everything about her irritated him. Her impertinence and disrespect; the way she so casually managed to get the last word in; the way that, at times, she could choose her words with enough skill to impress even him. The way she always knew exactly when he wanted a cup of tea without ever asking; the times when she turned up her iPod far too loud and danced far too enthusiastically; her disgusting habit of chewing on her fingers; that awful look of _understanding_ in her eyes; the way her hair smelled of something floral that he couldn’t quite name…

Loki paused in his angry pacing of his room, realising that he had become somewhat distracted. He flopped down on his bed with a tremendous sigh, rolling his eyes at himself when he realised that flopping on to furniture so ungracefully was a habit that he had picked up from _her_. At least he hadn’t stooped so low as to sing in the shower.

His rage had leached out of him into the soft comfort of the mattress, and he was just so _tired_. The worst thing about Darcy, the thing he despised most of all, was that she could get to him. Of all the opinions in the world someone like Darcy Lewis’ should matter least of all. And yet…

Asgardian men shared their feelings by killing things. Feeling happy? Kill something and feast. Feeling sad? Killing something will cheer you up. Feeling angry? Kill something violently. Feeling adventurous? Kill something in another realm. It was a coping technique that Loki had eschewed until fairly recently, preferring to internalise his emotions so as not to give others any power over him.

Look at how well that had turned out.

And along came Darcy, daring him to do something different. She had basically called him weak. For _not_ talking about his feelings.

Loki growled his irritation, swung himself off his bed and stormed through the apartment into Darcy’s room. Never mind that her bedroom door had probably wrenched off the hinges; or that it was three o’clock in the morning – if she wanted him to talk then she could damn well listen at whatever time he chose.

She was sitting up in bed, lamp still on, the shadow of a smug smile on her face. The infuriating wench had been waiting for him.

He glared venom at her, caught between wanting to set her on fire and laughing as she screamed, and knowing that he probably shouldn’t.

“I don’t _know_ how I feel. Does that satisfy you?” Loki demanded.

Darcy shrugged. “It’s a start.” Something in her voice betrayed what she had thus far successfully hidden from him: fear. Had it just occurred to her that she was housing a dangerous and unstable villain in her home? Loki loathed how guilty it made him feel. He began pacing in the small space not occupied by a bed or a desk.

“When I came to Midgard as a conqueror I felt free. I no longer had any sense of right and wrong, or good and evil. All I knew was power – those who had it, those who did not, and those who desired more. Everything I did under the sceptre’s influence, I did without a hint of remorse. Even more than that, I _enjoyed_ it.” Even as a child Loki had been immensely entertained by powerful people getting into petty arguments, and if he happened to be the cause of the trouble…well that only meant that he wasn’t one of the ones acting the fool. Watching the battle of egos unfold between the Earth’s mightiest heroes had almost been more fun than should be allowed. They had barely even needed the tiny nudge he had provided. He stopped pacing and began inspecting the pile of books Darcy currently had stacked on her desk.

“Killing all those people must have made you feel powerful.”

Loki sneered up at Darcy. “Did your murderous parents tell you that?” Loki had been around the girl long enough to know that her answering expression could be roughly translated as: ‘Oh it’s so on, bitch’. “I am a god. I _know_ that I’m powerful.”

“Knowing something and feeling something are two very different things. And I’m guessing, growing up with Thor as a brother, you prob’ly didn’t feel too powerful all that often.” Darcy smirked, knowing that she had struck a nerve.

“If I killed you now, do you think I would _feel_ powerful?” It would at least wipe that smug look off her face.

“It wouldn’t last,” Darcy shrugged. “I have the Hulk on speed dial.” Loki grit his teeth in irritation.

“Yes! I enjoyed the power; I _enjoyed_ seeing the fear; I _enjoyed_ being the only one with a hope of controlling the chaos that I had unleashed. I very much enjoyed throwing Tony Stark out of his own window! Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Holy crap! You threw Tony Stark out a window?” Darcy asked, incredulous. “I’m guessing his suit was on?”

“It would not have had quite the same effect if it were.” Loki grinned.

“Do you think if I did that he’d remember my name?” Darcy mused.

“Likely that and nothing else.”

She smiled with a slightly dreamy look in her eye, then shook herself. “Not the point. We were talking about you. Now, don’t think, just feel and speak.”

Loki rolled his eyes but did what she asked anyway. “All my life I have been mistrusted by most and disliked by many. I never knew why, until the truth of my heritage was revealed. And then everything began to make sense – why Odin favoured Thor; why I had always felt like an outsider; why I had never fallen in love with any of the women I had courted. I tried to prove my loyalty to Asgard and I was rejected for it.” He began pacing again, the words spilling out of him as his emotions bubbled to the surface.

“So I embraced the monster. It was easier to not care or to feel pain – to be a remorseless killer. And then, when it was over, there was my mother. She looked at me with disappointment and love and hope. How could she love me, how could she hope for me when I was nothing but a monster? And how was it that she could make me feel guilt over the lives of an insignificant number of humans who would only die in a handful of years anyway?

“When she was killed I cursed everything. Especially myself. I had been the one to tell the beast how to leave the prison. It got to her because of me. The one person left in the nine realms that I could truly say that I loved, and I was the reason for her death. I longed for the time when I felt nothing.” Loki blinked in surprise when he felt a drop of moisture on his cheek. He wiped the tear away with disgust.

“And now I know that my loyalty always was to Asgard. I killed those humans and invaded your city in service of the nine realms, to protect people from Thanos. The things I did may not have been good, but they were necessary. You ask how I feel now? I feel relieved; I feel confused; I feel dirty and weak from being used.

"But mostly I feel… like my mother’s son.”


End file.
